Witch Is When I Said Goodbye (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 10) by Adele Abbott

writing.”
    “Could you email him, then?”
    “I’m afraid we have to send it through the post.”
    No wonder they called this place the local history museum. It was like stepping back in time.
    “Okay then. Never mind—it’s not important.”
    “Are you sure? Because I could write him a letter, and drop it in the post tonight.”
    “No, really. It’s okay.”
    I had to see that typewriter, and I didn’t have time to wait for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn. I needed to distract Felicity somehow. But how? Then I noticed an unusual umbrella in the stand beside her desk. The bird pattern on it gave me an idea.
    I cast the ‘illusion’ spell.
    “How did that bird get in here?” Felicity looked in disbelief at the peacock that she saw standing where the umbrella had been. “Oh dear, oh dear. It must have come from the park. I’d better go and get security. I don’t want it to make a mess all over the floor. Will you excuse me for a moment, Jill?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    With that, Felicity scuttled off towards the back of the building. This was my chance. By casting the ‘faster’ spell, I was able to dash around the building in only a few seconds; I soon found the sixties office. Sure enough, there on the desk was the typewriter in question. Fortunately, there was a pile of paper next to it—to add authenticity, presumably. I fed a sheet into the typewriter, and typed the letter ‘O’.
    No! I couldn’t believe it. The letter printed on the paper was a perfect ‘O’.
    I’d been so sure this was the typewriter that had been used for the notes found beside the murder victims, and that Arthur Crowsfoot had been my man. But I’d got it badly wrong.
    I quickly made my way towards the exit. As I was leaving, I saw Felicity standing next to a tall man in a blue uniform.
    “But it was there!” Felicity said. “Where the umbrella is now. It had blue and green feathers.”
    The man gave her a doubtful look. “Are you sure about this Ms Dale? Only we don’t get many peacocks in the museum.”
    “Yes, I’m positive.”
    “Maybe it’s gone back to the park.”
    I felt a little guilty at making her look silly, particularly as it had all been to no avail.

Chapter 7
    I was back to square one with the knitting circle case. If the murderer wasn’t Arthur Crowsfoot, then who was it?
    Suddenly, Mrs V came rushing into my office. She looked panic-stricken.
    “Mrs V? Are you okay? Don’t tell me another one of your knitting circle has been murdered?”
    “No, thank goodness.”
    “What is it then?”
    “I’m so sorry. With all the upset, I completely forgot to tell you.”
    “Tell me what?”
    “I should have remembered.”
    “It’s okay. But what exactly did you forget to tell me?”
    “There was a telephone message for you. Late last night, after you left. They said that a tax inspector would be coming to see you this morning.”
    Oh bum!
    “She’s here now. I’m really sorry.”
    “Don’t give it another thought, Mrs V. You’ve had much more important things on your mind.”
    I hated all things tax—especially paying them. But why would a tax inspector want to see me now? I was up-to-date with my filings as far as I was aware. Maybe, if I climbed out of the window, walked along the ledge, and then climbed through one of the windows into Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole, I might be able to avoid her. Or I could just make myself invisible?
    But what would that achieve? Those people never gave up; she’d keep coming back until she caught me. I might as well get it over and done with.
    “You’d better show her in, please.”
    I took a deep breath and hoped for the best. And then, in walked my neighbour, Betty Longbottom. I’d totally forgotten she was a tax inspector. Suddenly, things didn’t seem quite so bad. Betty and I were friends, and I’d helped her out of a tight spot with the police, so she wouldn’t do anything to hurt me or my business. What a stroke of luck!
    “Hi,